His New Santa Fe: Oneshots
by Band10hut
Summary: He dreamed of that city made of clay in the desert. But that little rubberneck called Katherine Ella Pulitzer changed all that. From the streets of New York to the glory of the titans, Jack Kelly fights to ensure the survival of his new Santa Fe. Complete. Companion piece to His New Santa Fe: The Novel
1. Chapter 1

**His New Santa Fe**

Katherine Ella Pulitzer was one hell of a woman. She had a voice that could strike as quick and hot as lightning. She had bright eyes that sucked up words and ideas and reflected memories as she grew. Her hands were slender and could murder a typewriter and one of those new-fangled "automobiles." Best of all, under that voice, above those hands, and behind those eyes, there was her mind.

Darkness, light, and layers of that good stuff in between twisted and danced like fire in there. The dreams of a child mixed with the ambitions of a seventeen year old. Small samples of nostalgia stereotypically found in old people kept the engines of her brain moving.

That mind was the reason New York's high society automatically kicked her out. It served as a proper excuse for the publisher of the Sun to push the reporter off to the side. That led her to reporting on vaudeville and burlesque shows. Which somehow lead to a newsboy union. That mind was the reason Jack Kelly married her.

Any human who could shut down New York City and dethrone Pulitzer and Hearst in one night with a printing press and a piece of paper was fine by him. Fine? Quite an understatement. More like one of them big words she used…like incredible. Formidable. Irreplaceable. Extraordinary.

Sometimes Jack wondered what this girl did to him. Here he was, sleeping in a slum and selling papes. He was alright with slums. But this slum was special. 'Cause it was his and wife's slum. And they shared it gladly with any of the newsies when the papes would sell. They made it cozier with a homemade quilt that kept them warm at night. They made it joyful with a little boy called Jackie and a baby girl called Kathy.

Five years ago Jack Kelly would've died laughing to hear he'd be married, a father, and voluntarily staying in New York City. But that rubberneck of a girl changed all that with one strike. With fierce arguments, explosive actions, and those rare gems of tenderness, she made the curtain of poverty disappear so that he could see.

Without the curtain, he saw his brothers, not just orphans and runaways selling papes. He saw women, not ladies in black and white that passed out free food. He saw humans, not classes. He saw a picture in his head, not the solution to everything wrong in his life. And her… he saw Katherine, his new Santa Fe.

That was just a hint of the mumbo-jumbo going on in his head when he put that crackerjack ring on her finger after she shouted "Yes!" and kissed him. Weeks later, she promised him, several newsboy witnesses, and God himself that she'd stick by his side even after that other illusion called death tried to wedge between them. The tough Jack Kelly let out all of that mushy stuff. He was full of it. But then again, all the best people are.

She caused all of this. She destroyed the newsie Jack Kelly and brought him back to life a little wiser. She conquered him and his dream. She was one hell of a woman. Katherine, his new Santa Fe.


	2. Songs of the Rose and Santa Fe

**Where It All Began**

Jack's POV

 **September 1888**

"I warned you, I warned you!" Mama shouted. "I told you what would happen if you strike, and you did it anyway! Why do men never listen to women, huh? Maybe they would have more sense if they did."

"It was perfectly alright to strike! And no one ever said it was illegal!" Papa hit the wall with a red hot fury. "Rinne me un rud ceart!" _I did what was right._

"Is it right to put not only your job, but our lives on the line for a few more cents?" Mama pointed to our sitting room. "How do you expect us to feed the children? Pay the rent? Stay out of the poorhouse?" Her voice was shrill and rising. "I will not be able send the younger ones to school! Nothing is free in America! What about that don't you understand?"

"Na masla tir seo!"* Papa did not beat women. He was not one of those types of men. Instead, he began to beat the wall, swearing in Gaelic.

"Stop that!" Mama was small, but she was compact and strong. She threw her arms around her husband's waist and dragged him away from the yellow kitchen wall. "The landlord is already angry at us! If we damage his apartment, he'll evict us for sure!"

From the sitting room, I began to quiver. I had never seen my parents act like this before. I don't really remember a time before when they seriously fought. I glanced over my shoulder. Belinda was quietly sewing a quilt like a good girl. Did she not hear what was happening in the kitchen?

I didn't like it. Only Baby Donal and Baby Elliot seemed to care, and they were being waited on by Betty and Mary. Was the fight in my mind? Was I seeing things like the crazy people locked up in the asylum?

Determined to prove that I wasn't delusional, I began to bawl. I wasn't really crying at first. But as I thought about my parents, who had always hugged and kissed us before, were literally wrestling each other and shouting mean things, the tears began to ooze out of my eyes in hot, burning tracks.

"Feach cad ata deanta agat!" Papa abandoned his brawl with Mama and rushed over to me. As he drew near, I contemplated whether or not to scooch away. He hit the wall. Would he hit me?

Instead, he wrapped his arms around me. "Na biodh faitios ort," he whispered. I whimpered. Last minute he was a ball of fire, now he was my papa again. Would he turn into a ball of fire again and burn me?

"Oh, Gerald, we shouldn't fight like that. We're scaring the children." Mama placed a hand on her hip and sighed, leaning against the kitchen wall. "I'm sorry I said those bad things to you. But you will need a new job."

Cradling me in his arms, Papa nodded in agreement. "I am sorry as well, Matilda. I should listen to you before I act so rashly. And I will take of my family. We build an even better future. Creidim seo." _I believe this._

"Calm him down, Gerald, and get him into bed. He's just six." Mama started scrubbing the skillet.

"Alright, Mattie girl, alright." They changed so fast. But I was glad.

Mama kissed me goodnight as Papa hoisted me up and carried me to the boys' bedroom. Elliot and Donal were in their cribs, not a muscle stirring. Papa gently lowered me on my bed and tucked me in.

"Sing a song!" I begged, bouncing a little. "Please!"

"Alright, Jackie boy, alright," he laughed. "Which one?"

"Something new!"

"I love it when you say that," he chuckled, winking that blue star eye. My eye. "I got a new one, alright." After clearing his throat for a second, his deep, melancholy voice rolled out in syrupy layers sweeter than sugar.

 _Red is the rose in yonder garden grows_

 _Fair is the lily of the valley_

 _Clear is the water that flows from the Boyne_

 _But my love is fairer than any_

 _Come over the hills my bonnie lassie_

 _Come over the hills to your darling_

 _You choose the rose, love, and I'll make the vow_

 _And I'll be your true love forever_

As the melody spilled off his tongue in his native language, he glanced toward the doorway, where my mother stood. I pretended to be asleep, but out of the corner of my eye I could see them shining starlight at each other. None of us could understand what words he spoke, but we knew the meaning. And that was what counted.

 **July 1899**

Over ten years later, I was sitting on the rooftop of the boarding house. The sky was a dark mass of blues and blacks and hints of yellow, enveloping New York in a dreamlike trance.

Hugging my knees, I stared into my lap. A deep ache had opened up in me, one that I had suppressed for who knows how long. But there were days when I couldn't think of anything else.

 _Why do you think of these things? You know they'll only make you more upset._ Tragic and true. Papa was dust now, getting swept out by some poor old maid and making people cough. Mama, I didn't even want to think about what became of her petite, strong body. God knew what happened to my seven brothers and sisters. The orphanage ladies had snapped most of them up like a cat snatching a mouse.

The only thing keeping me alive was Crutchie. And Race and Finch and Henry and Romeo and all those newsies depending on me. And Medda. And the dream.

Santa Fe, that spanking new city made of clay, was lying in the desert. Small, untamed, and sprawling with folks who would walk right up to you and say, "Welcome home, son, to Santa Fe!" Where no gimp leg or empty pocket held you back. Where you could swim the whole Rio Grande just for fun.

I was seventeen. Would I ever see my siblings again? Likely no. Was there anything for me in New York? Obviously not. Santa Fe was my only chance. But shining stars at someone…you couldn't really do that with something like Santa Fe.

For once, I was sort of dissatisfied with the dream. I had never been looked upon with eyes of starlight, like what my parents had. And even Santa Fe couldn't guarantee that. Would I ever look upon a woman fairer than the lily of the valley and the red rose?

 _Never mind that; you have a real chance in Santa Fe, where girls admire a real man_.

A clang from the entrance to the attic interrupted my thoughts. I poked up to see good old Crutchie. He already had his clothes on complete with the cap. Hobbling on his wooden crutch, he slowly made his way to the fire escape.

"Where ya going? What are you…get back to sleep, the bell ain't rung yet." I muttered groggily.

"I wanna beat the other fellows to the streets. I don't want anyone to see that I ain't… uh … been walking so good." He kept going. That kid had determination.

"Oh quit griping. You know how many guys fake a limp for sympathy? That bum leg of yours is a gold mine!" I wished we had a gold mine. Then maybe we could afford to get that leg fixed by a real doctor, not one of them crazy midwives.

"Someone gets the idea that I can't make it on my own, they'll lock me up in the Refuge for good!" I grimaced with true sympathy and horror. Snyder the Spider and his zoo of runaways and orphans…

"Be a pal, Jack, help me DOWN!" He shrieked as his good leg slipped off the prong and his free arm turned into his lifeline.

"Hey you want to bust your other leg too?" I grasped his arm and yanked him real good. As the little guy crawled back onto the safety of the roof, he winked in gratitude.

"No, I wanna go down."

"You'll be down there soon enough." I tossed a menacing glare to the stupid streets that wrecked my family. "Take a moment, drink in my penthouse high above the stinking streets of New York!" I waved my hand around the grimy gray roof.

Apparently Crutchie didn't get sarcasm. "You're crazy."

"Why, cause I like a breath of fresh air? Cause I like seein' the sky and stars?" I fired back.

"Yeah, you're seeing stars alright." He giggled to himself a bit. I bit my lip.

"Them streets down there, they sucked the life right outta my old man. Years a' rotten, starved on by the bosses, and when they found him broken, they tossed him into the curb, just like yesterday's newspaper!" Salt water stung the corners of my eyes as I remembered the way Mama and us cried the night we found out Papa would never come home to sing Irish tunes or stare at Mama like she was brighter than the sun. "Well they ain't doing that to me!" I hollered down at the empty, listless rows of cobblestone.

"But everyone wants to come to New York." Crutchie backed off, sensing my anger. Best friends can do that.

I sighed. I shouldn't take it out on Crutchie. He prolly suffered worse than me, with his evil father and a gimp leg. And Snyder the Spider. I shuddered in spirit.

"New York's fine, for those who got a big strong door to lock up," I relented. "I'll tell you personally, there a whole nother world out there. You keep your small life in a big city, but give me a big life in a small town…"

 **Author's Note: Thank you, thepopcornpup for all your support. I look forward to reading some more of your stories soon. I love Newsies (the musical), especially with the original cast or the original touring cast (whom I saw).**

 **Jack's father is speaking Irish Gaelic. From Jack's surname, I guessed that he was of Irish descent, which makes sense, given the migration. I will translate some of the things Gerald says in Gaelic:**

 **Rinne me un rud ceart!** _ **I did what was right**_

 **Na masla tir seo!** _ **Do not insult this country!**_

 **Feach cad ata deanta agat!** _ **Look what you did!**_

 **Na biodh faitios ort.** _ **Do not be afraid.**_

 **Creidim seo.** _ **I believe this.**_

 **I am sorry if I mistranslated or misspelled anything. I am unable to do accents on vowels.**

 **The song Gerald sings to Jack is "Red is the Rose." While I am unsure of exactly when it was first written, but I like the idea that it was a traditional ballad Gerald carried over from his homeland. I hope to update soon! Carry the banner!**


	3. The Orphan's Brother

The freezing water slapped me in the face. Pins scratched all over my body, spreading from my toes to the head. But I kept kicking and pummeling the murky water with my small, stout hands. The deck on the other side seemed to be miles away. But it could't be.

Below me, a cold spirit pulled at me subtly, begging me to come to her. But I couldn't. Not without a fight. Papa once said that spirits could play tricks on desperate people and lure them to their doom. I wondered if one of those spirits was in the Hudson River.

My arms throbbed with soreness, and the bitter taste of the river water stings my throat. The deck seemed even farther away. I wanted to stop, to float on the river. But the Husdon never showed mercy. I had to keep swimming. Not just to get away from the water spirit, but the people on the side I jumped from. The people that had snatched up my siblings.

"Margaret, Anne," I croaked. I didn't deserve to go through this. It wasn't my fault Papa's job was rotton, with dirty bosses and blind cops. I didn't ask them evil bosses to break him until he could hardly speak, let alone sing. And I never, for one second, even considered him dropping dead on duty and getting tossed out into the street. So why was I getting punished for it?

Mama and Papa had always told us that doing good would bring good. But they were wrong. They did good all their lives, never failing to give to the poor, no matter how little they had. And look what happened. Papa tossed out like garbage and thrown into the street, where he was burned by a cooking fire gone wild the following day. And Mama...losing her husband, her home, and her money killed her in the form of a flu.

When I finally pulled myself up onto the dock, ice speared through my bones. The crisp, dry air only accentuated the bitterness. I glanced through the fog at what had once been home. There was nothing to see but the glow of a lamp. The orphanage ladies wouldn't be able to find me. They had gotten my sisters and brothers, but I wasn't gonna let them get me, even before I decided to jump into the river and swim away.

Aching and chilled, inside and out, I limped away. Maybe there would be a place with a nice fire that I could warm my feet by. But then again, there were stories even my parents couldn't shield me from. Stories about orphans who froze to death in winter when no one let them in. Orphans were children with no parents.

Both of my parents were dead. And ladies had come to take all eight of us to the oprhanage. That was a building where orphans lived. I stopped in my tracks. Both of my parents had died, and ladies had come to send us to the oprhans' home...did that make me an orphan?

 _No_ I stubbornly thought. _Mama and Papa are alive and well and watching over us. That's what Belinda said, right?_ But if both your parents died, then you didn't have them anymore. That meant...

My whole being trembled from something besides the cold. I was nothing now. There would be no one to tuck me in, no one to make soup for me when I was sick, no one to bandage my cuts, no one... there would be no one. I could not survive. I was nothing.

 _No, I am something_ , I reminded myself. A short burst of relief washed over me. But that morphed into a pitless despair. _Yes, I am something. I am an orphan,_ I realized. Reality ripped my heart in two, and I began to sob.

000

Years later, staring out one of the windows of the Refuge, I chewed my lip. That was my seven year old self. Young, innocent, safe child tossed onto the streets of New York. But I was older now. And I had grown stronger. And smarter.

A nice looking carriage was parked near the front door, which wasn't too far from the window. The stuffy room had become so hot that the window had been thrown open. No one would assume that a kid would have the guts to jump from four stories.

 _But Jack Kelly is not just a kid,_ I silently shouted at them. No, tying my clothes together to form a rope would not be enough. But the dirty sheets splattered with stains of brown and red...as worn as they were, they wouldn't do any good. But lucky for me, a dead cherry tree was a leg's reach away from the window. And I was good at climbing stuff.

Slowly, but surely, I eased my legs out of the window and onto the braches of the cherry tree. In a leap of faith, I shoved myself off the window ledge and grabbed wildly at the tree. Lucky for me, I managed to snatch a small branch. From there I eased my way down. All the while, the boys up in the window gawked at me while some in another cell busied the cop standing guard with their mouths.

Quiet as a shadow, I scurried over to the bigshot's carriage and got my butt onto the back. Peeking around for danger, I hurriedly flung the horsehair blanket over me and cocooned myself tightly. The heat was suffocating, but if I could get out of this dump, it would be something worthwhile.

After what seemed like forever, the carriage jolted, the wheels began to roll, and I was getting transported outta the Refuge back into New York City.

000

After the driver stopped the carriage for something, I automatically leapt out from under the blanket and into the air. Hastily tucking the blanket back onto the carriage's behind, I dashed into the nearest building I could see. Back against the wall and my chest puffing, I looked outside to see if anyone had noticed. The driver was totally unaware, but the guy's boss...oh lordy. He was looking right at me!

Top hat, nice suit, and big mustache, he stared at me. And a slow smile spread across his lips. And he winked at me. Minutes later, he was back in his carriage, which rolled away.

"Hey kid, what you doing here?" A white haired man with a bowler cap poked at me. "You need a job?"

"A job?" I stammered. Was I really that lucky?

"Selling papes. You can room here at night." He gestured toward the stairwell. "Bunks up there with lots of other boys." Too good to be true.

"Really? I'd love to!" I gushed. "But...I don't have any money."

"Well, then I spose..."

"Wait mister!" A boy with a crutch came hobbling in. under sandy bangs shone two blue pebbles. "He's with me. We wants to work for you. And we'll room together."

"You're with him? Well then, I spose you're gonna pay for this." He grinned, revealing his gold teeth.

"Yessir." The crip handed him some change and beckoned at me to follow to him. "Come on, buddy."

When we out of the guy's way, I demanded, "Why did you do that? We don't even know each other."

"Doing good brings good," he commented. "Anyway, I could use a friend any day."

 _Didn't my parents say that? Why was I being ungrateful? This kid had just saved my life._

"Well, thank you," I stuttered. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Call me Crutchie." He grinned real big. "And you?"

"Jack. Jack Kelly." I suddenly grinned real big myself. This kid was a rarity with his golden smile and heart. He'd be real nice to have for a best friend...or a brother. Maybe we would be that one day.


	4. Davey's Diary

Dear Diary,

Today was the most unusual day I have ever lived. And to think it started like a normal morning and ended on the strangest note I have ever experienced! I suppose it went much better than it could have, but I still miss the school.

It began when Mama shook us awake. It was so early that it was dark. Mama did not want to take any chances of Les and me being late. Les was in no mood to get up early, but he was quite eager to skip school. Papa looked so forlorn to see us having to work while he stayed at home with his injury. I know it is not his fault that he was hurt and that the boss laid him off, but I still am angry, although I'm not sure at whom my anger is directed.

Mama prepared porridge for us as usual. Sarah and the other girls- all eight of them- were up and about, preparing food and getting the chores done. Mama tends to be a morning bird and prefers that her daughters do the same.

"A successful wife, mother, and housekeeper rises early and teaches her children to do the same," Mama says quite frequently. However, I'm not so sure that all of the girls wish to be successful wives, mothers, and housekeepers. I know that Sarah and Eliza are to married next spring, but Hannah and Laura seem to want an alternative in life. I can kind of understand that.

Anyway, Mama sent us off quickly. I was quite frightened. I was glad that we got up early. Les kept running off and getting us lost. When we finally got to the World, I met the Delancy brothers and Mr. Wiesel. Or "Weasel," as the newsboys put it. I suppose I should write "newsies." It it what they call themselves. One such newsie called Jack Kelly helped us out and has become our business partner.

You see, Mr. Wiesel was trying to cheat us out of one of the twenty papers we paid for. I asked if I could have the twentieth paper, and he got all offended about me accusing him of cheating. I was shocked by how sensitive he is; surely a grown man would have some common sense? Sadly no. I actually feel sorry for the boys who have to put up with him everyday. And I suppose I will have to deal with him everyday myself.

Anyway, Jack Kelly was very helpful. He kind of forced his help on us, but I was grateful in the end. He bought us fifty more papers and decided to get into a partnership. It was for selfish reasons, mainly to use Les to trick people into buying our papers. He pretended to be sick, orphaned, and inflicted by all sorts of inflictions. I admit that he is an excellent actor, but I don't like the part where he lies. I especially don't like having to lie myself. I tried to sell a paper honestly by reading the headline, but Jack once again outdid me by making a headline. Papa taught us not to lie, but I guess you have to "improve the truth" on the streets.

Les was kind enough to invite Jack to dinner. I was growing to like the boy. He's very tough and a year older than me, but I admire his strength. He's like an older brother to all the other newsies and fights off the cheating Delancy brothers. He is very good friends with Crutchie, who is very cheery and a good fellow. Race, the cigar smoker, is sassy but overall alright. Then there's Finch, the mischief maker, Romeo, who lives up to his name, Buttons, Specs, JoJo, Tommy Boy...I don't think I could ever memorize their names! I don't know how Jack can manage it. But then again, he's one of the craziest people I have ever met.

After a long, tiring day of selling papers in the hot, dusty streets of New York, I was ready to go home. But when we were trying to persuade Jack to dinner-he sure looked hungry-this man showed up. He looked quite menacing with those snake like eyes and a malicious grin. He started screaming Jack's name and chased us. Jack shouted, "RUN" and we did! We ran till we reached-of all places- a burlesque theater!

I was mad, tired, and sick of being ridiculed and dragged into all of this trouble. I finally yelled" Why am I running?"

Jack then went on to explain that the man was Snyder the Spider, a warden at the Refuge. He's a hateful man who locks up orphans and other poor children and abuses them in the kids' jail. I will gladly heed Jack's advice about staying clear of Snyder and the Refuge.

Jack then introduced us to Medda, the lead performer and the owner of the joint. I found her beautiful and kind. It's amazing how you can find the nicest people in the most lowly of places. She then revealed the backgrounds Jack paints for the theater. He's a talented artist- a very talented artist. His landscapes are full of feeling and emotion. And he never has anyone pay him for it! He may be all rough and tumble, but underneath he's a true gentleman.

We watched the beautiful Medda and her girls perform. It was fascinating, and while it was a lot for Les to handle, I found it to be rather tame compared to other things I've seen and heard at school from the other boys. After the performance, Jack showed up after getting brushed off by a girl. He said good-bye to us and agreed to sell with us tomorrow. I'm actually looking forward to that.

After all the selling, Les and I trudged home. It was after dark, and Mama was worried sick. She scolded us real good and had us clean up. Pretty soon, we'll be stinking so much that she'll run out of soap. We ate a good dinner. But while I enjoyed all of these comforts, I felt relief and guilt. Guilt because not everyone-or very many even-had access to these things. I thought of Jack when Papa and Mama took care of us. And I thought of all the newsies and the kids on the streets with every bite I ate or every time I saw my family.

I feel anger toward the bosses and cops of New York. The upper class feeds off the backs of the poor. Those boys on the street might have been us, a good deal of them orphaned by sickness, factory accidents, or alcohol's devastating effects. I feel bad about all of this. And I want to make it better. I just don't know how. Putting coins in the poor box can't help every orphan, and I sometimes wonder if the money even goes to the poor.

But I will not worry about these things tonight. I need to conserve my energy for tomorrow, and the day after that, and again and again...it makes me tired just thinking about it. So good night, diary, and I'll write in you tomorrow if I have the energy.


	5. Katherine's Diary

July 18, 1899

Dear Lady,

Today was another boring work day. Mr. Harrison pushed me off to the side once again. This time I had to write an article on this one time only burlesque performance. It was better than the flower show by a mile. But there's so much more happening in New York-right now as I am writing! Who's to say that I can't write about the trolley strike or- God forbid, this is sinful to think of- murders or robberies? Who, beside God and myself, is to say why I shouldn't write about the big things?

The burlesque theater was much more colorful and lively than I imagined. I have never been in that area of town. Yes, there were lowlifes and ruffians hanging about, taking a swig of beer or a smoke. That was why Henry was sent to accompany me. He was jumpy as a cat. But I was ready to break out in a nervous sweat myself, so who am I to be snobby?

The owner of the theater, Medda, greeted me warmly. She's a tall, stout black woman with lavish, but brilliant taste in clothes. I liked her instantly. She's a self-made woman with a job and money that she works for. I admire work ethic. And I was fond of her charm and wit.

While I was disgusted by seeing the men hoot at the dancers, I didn't really see what there was to hoot about. Yes, you could see the girls' legs, or the shape anyway, but all they really sang about were broken hearts and lovey dovey nonsense. What's so risqué about that? Besides, don't they have wives at home whom they…anyway, I wasn't particularly fond of the lack of common decency the men had for the girls. But then again, what do you expect from a burlesque theater?

The article has been finished and typed, and I will hand it in tomorrow. Father- what a formal word to call someone you should be close to- was too busy to bother me. And thank God that those annoying messengers didn't show up. Mother's been occupied with tea parties and this huge party. I know I should be grateful that they're giving me some peace and quiet, but I still feel…forgotten. It's a sorrowful, but shared feeling. I know they're rude and shallow, but I can see that my sisters feel that way too. But they wear more gracefully than me.

The most interesting thing about today was this boy. He was little twerp, a plainspoken know-nothing skirt chasing, cocky little son of…you get the idea. He was bugging me this morning when Henry and I walked by the lodging house. I feel bad for the boys who live there. It's stuffy and hot in the summer- I could feel the heat coming off it early in the morning! And I bet it's freezing in the winter. I don't know if even the rats and the roaches like it there.

At least the newsies have each other. They get along very well, like brothers. While I had a mansion and a large company of little girls destined to become beautiful brides and hostesses, I never got something like that. I never got to romp around the yard or walk around town or even let my shoulders sag a little at suppertime. No, I had to be this quiet, perfect little princess with nothing to say. And that was to be my whole life, even when I got married and a husband to feed me all my opinions and beliefs and…ugh, that life!

I feel a great sense of relief and freedom that I never would have gotten with my parents now that I'm on my own, but still…my sisters' arranged fates and my memories still haunt me. I know I shouldn't be complaining because I'm so much better off than half the city, but still…you gotta have someone watching out for you, whether you're a princess or a pauper.

Back on subject; this boy was a first rate pest. He pushed this other kid aside-who happened to be flirting with me also-and said something about delivering papers to me personally. I know how the business works. I'm Joe Pulitzer's daughter, after all. And I wasn't gonna let this mutt bug me every day over a newspaper.

I got a tongue too. More than Mother ever approved of. And I said to him, "Here's this for a headline: Cheeky boy gets nothing for his trouble." If only he could've seen his own face! I was feeling quite proud about seeing the other boys' faces.

But, if you please, he showed up again at the burlesque theater. Medda had given me this nice private box to watch the show and get the scoop. I was flattered by her kindness. And I foolishly thought no one would notice me, so I left the door open. And guess who showed up? That's right, the boy!

He started gabbing straight away. His name's Jack Kelly, and he's a first rate pest and a talented artist. After distracting me again and again and making me miss important details in this one dance, I finally yelled at him. And that sent the whole joint into an uproar. Thankfully Medda didn't blame me. She yelled at Jack. I guess their friends or something since he got in for free. But he sure has a talent for embarrassing people.

After the yelling, I went back to writing. I tried to block his voice out as he was crooning this little love song and messing a paper. Then, with a tip of the hat and a smile, he was gone. And the one thing he had left behind was a sketch on the newsprint. Of me.

I don't know what to think of it. It's beautifully crafted. But it's not me. The woman on the paper is beautiful, with a graceful face and pretty eyes. My eyes are dull. And my figure is hopeless, even with Mother's best corsets. I'm not pretty. But I'm kind of…flattered…that he thinks so.

Jack's talent has me thinking. He's better than half the people Father has working in the cartoon studio. So why is he hawking the papes when he should be drawing for them? Maybe he's working his way through art school, though I doubt it. Sadly, I think he's another one of the unrecognized souls in this mess of a city crushed under the elite's polished boot.

So there you have it Lady. I insulted my job-although it's lovely and full of opportunity, my parents-who passed me off to nannies, the class I grew up in-some of the people are nice, others are just terrible, and I met a boy. A boy who likes me. This is not a new thing really, but I don't know many people who would sketch a girl's face on newsprint the day he met her. I find Jack annoying, but you got to admit he has style.

I've a funny feeling about tomorrow. I think it's going to be big. I always think big. But tomorrow is special. And I have an even stranger feeling that I'm going to be saddled with the newsie again.

Katherine


	6. Watching

He was so small. She could remember exactly how tiny he was when he made his entrance into the world. "Not even the size of my head!" his father exclaimed. To think that baby was roaming the mean streets of Manhattan alone...her already shattered heart would break even more.

He didn't deserve this. He never asked to get picked up by the orphanage people. He never wanted to be separated from his family. He did nothing! So why was the wrath of the Earth laid upon him?

Who would shield him from the scarring images you saw on the street? Who would watch his back when the thugs surrounded him? Who would give some food and a bed without lice? No one, that's who.

She had always wanted something better for her brood of eight. Less sorrow, less scrounging up second rate food, less of everything she had endured. That was the parents' dream, right? Hadn't she scrimped and saved for opportunities for those eight little devils? And yet all of them ended up with more misery than she ever imagined.

She couldn't pull him out of the pickpockets' reach or bail him out of jail. She was only a single flame in a world of shadows. But she could watch.

And she did. Day after day, night after night, year after year, she watched him. She watched him starve, steal, and get tossed in a dirty, crowded cell. She beamed as he hopped onto Teddy Roosevelt's carriage. She smiled fondly upon the kind, crippled boy with a crutch who became the brother her son never got to know. She admired the burlesque performer who gave him the advice she never had a chance to. And when a plucky reporter who reminded her very much of the girl she once was, Matilda Laurie Kelly could finally rest in peace.

Oh, she'd still be watching and worrying like all mothers do. But Jack Kirean Kelly was in good hands.


	7. The Parents' Vow

**December 16, 1900**

Jack Kelly stared down at the little bundle in his arms. A pair of blue eyes that matched his stared right back, curious and innocent of the ways of the world. The two black pupils darted around, taking in everything, from the dingy room he was born in to the bed where his exhausted mother slept. To think that this little one was in her stomach a day ago.

"Jackie Andrew David Fredrick Kelly, the world better be ready for you," his father whispered, a boyish glint in his smile. But that smile turned to a serious, straight line. If he wasn't ready for little Jackie, then how the world...Jack's shoulders slumped in disappointment. Katherine had lost her job after marrying him, and Pulitzer and his wonderful wife wouldn't have anything to do with them. All of their daughters and sons followed suit. He had to leave the Newsies' Lodging House after his marriage, and he had two mouths to feed. The only real income they had was Jack's paper money and the few cents that Katherine made washing clothes.

"We don't have much, do we?" Katherine draped her shawl- her only shawl- over his shoulders. Her nightgown was gray, torn, and almost transparent from multiple washings. Her once smooth hands were calloused and cut near the thumbs. Dark circles had gathered beneath her hazel eyes. From her jerky movements and quiet grunts, Jack could tell she had a pain in her abdomen.

"You'll get cold, here." He flung the quilt they shared over her. Gratefully, she smiled, revealing her bright teeth.

"Thank you, it's getting chillier by the minute." She peered over his arm into the pudgy little face that came from within her just hours ago. "Hello. How are you, my little newsie?"

Jackie began babbling in his own made up language, perhaps telling his parents how he felt in his swaddled cloth. At his wife's beckon, Jack passed the baby to her. Gently cupping the child's head and body, the mother stared down at her miracle. _Miracle._ There wasn't a better word for it in the English language, or in any tongue, for that matter. It had been a miracle that they had this baby. It was a miracle that both mother and child had survived in the drafty cellar of a home. It was a miracle that Jack was able to afford enough wood to keep the fire burning.

As Katherine curled up against the wall, cradling her son, Jack kept a secret vigil. _She looks like an angel._ Images of the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus in a stable flashed to his head. The church nativities, the Christmas cards, his parents' Bible- his parents. They had eight children: Belinda, Siobhan, Margaret, Maire, Betty, me, Elliot, and Donal. He was surprised he could remember all of their names. But then, special things stay in a person's mind.

Silly things like how his mother made you eat all of your porridge or the frivolous fantasies of Maire and Betty of becoming princesses and Belinda's hopeless longing for an annoying boy. Tiny details like his father lighting a candle for Mass on Christmas and reading from the Bible. Treasures to be cherished such as the Irish carols and ballads his papa sang and the golden childhood he used to have. His parents were the best. They wholeheartedly believed that doing good brought good.

"And look where it got them," he muttered under his breath in a burst of bitterness and contempt. Katherine raised her eyebrows knowingly.

"Jack, are you alright? Is this about your parents?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I'm-"

"Jack, that's not going to happen with us. We'll be fine."

"Who said that was even possible?" His voice and temper were starting to rise with irritation.

"Don't get short, I just had a baby- your baby!" She bit her lip. "If we keep arguing like this, what will it teach him? I don't want him to go through I did..." Her voice tapered off in a helpless sigh. Jack's scarlet anger faded into a guilty, melancholy purple. Red surliness mixed with dejected blue. He had been pitied by his customers for being an orphan, scraping a living off the streets from the age of seven. But Katherine, the daughter of titan publisher Pulitzer, well, a sudden realization that her life hadn't all been ball gowns and lacy frills hit him in the gut hard. Like a punch from one of the Delancys.

"I'm sorry." It wasn't nearly enough for upsetting on the day she had given birth. Especially when she was trying to comfort him. But it was all he had.

"Thank you." She nestled safely into the crook of his arm and rested her head beneath his chin. It fit somewhat awkwardly, but it matched nonetheless. Like two halves of a torn newspaper. Jack Kelly knew he got better than he deserved.

Katherine stared at the child, who was now sleeping. Safe, protected, loved. Had her parents ever fawned over her like that? Or any of her siblings, for that matter? A periwinkle haze of disappointment, resentment, and longing came over the new mother. But the periwinkle turned to cobalt as the bold blueness of sad, but endless determination took charge. She would do better. She had little in the way of material wealth, but she would shower the boy with love and the invisible riches of the world.

 _I will not make the same mistakes that you did_

 _I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery_

 _I will not break the way you did_

 _You fell so hard_

 _I've learned the hard way to never let it get that far_

Years of watching her father pace, grumbling over how high the profits were. Every day had been tainted the minute her mother shoved her in a foppish dress and displayed before an eligible bachelor. All the time wasted trying to impress the families with "old money" and hide their new money status. The endless coldness her older sister Pansy had received for being seen in public with a middle class doctor. A childhood of burying her feelings, obsessions, and misery beneath a corset and petticoats.

 _Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk_

 _Because of you I learned to play on the safe_

 _So I don't get hurt_

 _Because of you I find it hard to trust not only me but everyone around me_

 _Because of you I am afraid_

Good luck slouching at the dinner table. Every night you dressed for dinner. Everyday, after she got old enough, she threw herself at the rich, privileged gents. There was to be no association with any other social class. You stepped out of line once, and you might have all of New York's high society on your back. Gossiping, sneering...you couldn't really blame them, considering there was little excitement in a life of boredom and duty, but it still smarted, nonetheless.

 _I lose my way_

 _And it's too long before you point it out_

 _I cannot cry_

 _Because I know that weakness in your eyes_

 _I'm forced to fake a laugh, a smile_

 _Everyday of my life_

 _My heart can't possibly break_

 _When it wasn't even whole to start with_

There was no one to talk to. Children were to be seen and not heard. If one was a very good actress, she could put on a very convincing simper. But a false simper was a false simper, convincing or not. She could not remember a time when she could just talk about her interests and passion. Forget dreaming about some wild fantasy. The few times her mother spoke to her personally was to either scold her or to advise her on getting a good husband. A husband with money and a good name. Love and tenderness were beside the point.

There was a lot buzzing behind her eyes, even when she was locked away in boarding school. But she never spoke of much besides tea, clothes, and ladylike subjects. She feared those glares, those vehement stares of judgment...she lived her life in fear. Fear of rejection, isolation, fear clouded her mind like the factory smoke that clogged workers' lungs.

 _I watched you die_

 _I heard you cry_

 _Every night in your sleep_

 _I was so young_

 _You should've known better than to lean on me_

 _You never thought of anyone else_

 _You just saw your pain_

 _And now I cry in the middle of the night_

 _For the same damn thing!_

So many times she burst into tears for no obvious reason. Again and again, images of her mother's mortified face. The whispers the guests exchanged as they looked at her holding a newsie's hands. The piercing stare of her siblings. The ice in her father's voice as he burned the remnants of the rickety bridge they shared. None of the boys, or Jack even, seemed to really understand what was going on. They tried their best, and she was grateful. But they had their own painful childhood memories, which were probably far worse than anything she could imagine, but still...some things were different for everyone. _That's the way of life_ she supposed.

 _Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk_

 _Because of you I learned to play on the safe side_

 _So I don't get hurt_

She couldn't take anymore of that life. No more dressing for dinner and pretending to be a perfect socialite. No more, no more, she could've screamed it out loud!

 _Because of you I try my hardest just to forget everything_

 _Because of you I don't how to let anyone else in_

 _Because of you I'm ashamed of my life_

 _Because it's empty_

 _Because of you I am afraid_

Her feisty spirit was unleashed the minute the suffragettes, those wonderful leading ladies, distributed pamphlets on the street. The idea of coming and going to work, getting paid for something she loved...there was no going back. She left the boarding, her family's mansion, and rented an apartment. She spoke to every editor she could find until there was one willing to put up with her. She wheezed her way through the flower shows and the burlesque performances. She seized the day as the strangely charming newsie Jack Kelly and his brave battalion of strikers stood up to the mighty ruling class- including her father! She now had a husband, a child; but that hunger, that emptiness still haunted her.

"It won't happen again," she decided aloud as she held Jackie closer. "I would rather die than let our child be neglected while we walk this Earth." It was an overwhelming vow, especially since it was for life. But it would work out. Because it had to. That was parenting.

"That's my lucky ace," Jack Kelly said in awe as he kissed her forehead. Like the Holy Family in the stable, they huddled together on the worn mattress in a cramped room, holding each other tightly to keep warm.

* * *

 **Hi I'm back. this is my first attempt at writing a songfic of sorts, so I hoped you enjoyed it. I can't wait for this summer and the school year to end (3 weeks baby). I'll be back soon. and I am definitely seeing Newsies when it returns this summer. :)**


	8. Author's Note

**Hey everyone, it's Band10Hut. Here's a notice on my plans for writing and for _His New Santa Fe_.**

 ** _His New Santa Fe_ is a collection of one-shots on the life of Jack Kelly and Katherine Plumber, along with their extended family and friends and later on, the children. I'm going to take this to 10 chapters. After that, I will finish my other stories. However, after those are complete, if I have the inspiration and the time, I will publish a new fanfic- _His New Santa Fe- the Novel._ Basically it's the entire story from the end of the strike to their marriage and so on. It will either be a very long story or be of average length with sequels.**

 **Thank you all for support. So, let's soak 'em for Crutchie!**


	9. The Announcement

"We're getting married." The Pulitzers stopped dead in their tracks. Katherine scrutinized the faces of her mother Edith and seven siblings: Ralph, Edith, Marietta, Constance, Joseph Jr., Lucille, and Lavinia. None showed any sign of sympathy towards her.

"My God, Katherine," Joseph whispered, facing the wall. The entire family froze, anticipating a reaction. Katherine's hands trembled. _Perhaps announcing this wasn't such a good idea._ But what other options were there? Though romantic, elopement seemed disrespectful. However, straight out telling her family...

Jack detested waiting. "Mr. Pulitzer, sir, I just want you to know-"

"Know what?" Joseph whipped around. "That you're robbing me of my daughter? First my pride, then my own family? I give into your demands, you! A, a, a nobody!" Jack looked as if he'd been slapped. No shouting, but the savage glint in his eyes told him everything.

"Don't talk to him like that!" Katherine rose to her fiance's defense. "He's a union president!"

"A newsboys' union!"

"He's honorable and selfless."

"He's a petty thief and a convict!" He pointed at Jack. "You're a liar, a thief, a common street urchin-"

"I sell your papes!"

"Katherine, he's a newsboy, how will he provide for you?" Marietta interrupted.

"We'll take care of each other," Katherine declared. "He's also a cartoonist for Father."

"Not anymore," Joseph interjected.

"Well, I have a job at the _Sun_ ," she said evenly. "And Jack can find other work."

"See, Miz Pulitzer?" The newsie shot Marietta a saucy grin.

"No, I do not see." Edith stared at her daughter. "Katherine, he's a newsie. You're the daughter of Joseph Pulitzer, heiress to a good sum of his money. More than this boy has likely ever seen."

"That doesn't matter."

"Katherine, you haven't a clue what you're getting into. You're throwing your life, your reputation, your chance at a position out the window!"

"I couldn't care less about that." The reporter clenched her teeth exasperatedly. How many times would she have to say it?

"You could ruin our family's honor." Edith's mouth morphed into a tight pink line. "How'll your sisters find husbands while you run off with the rabble? How will we convince the old money we're good enough? Why are you being so selfish?"

At this Katherine leaped like a leopard onto prey. "Me, selfish? I'm not the one who shipped my children to finishing school so I could host more parties. I'm not the one who pressured my girls into marrying old men."

"You insolent child!"

"But she ain't a child," Jack reminded them. "She knows what she wants."

"Don't respect your mother!" Joseph pointed to the door. "Leave us at once! Katherine, your room. Kelly, you're fired. No drawings, no newspapers, nothing. We'll deal with you-" glaring at his daughter "-tomorrow. As a matter of fact, everyone can retire for the night. Kelly, out."

"Spose we leave right now," Jack argued. "Me and Katherine could just walk out the door!"

"It won't happen." Marietta strode over and delicately inserted herself between the couple. "I'll escort her to her room myself."

"I'll send the Delancys after you," her father added. "Now, for the final time, Jack Kelly, GET OUT."

"You can't just-" Katherine began. Marietta grabbed her arm.

"Don't. You'll just make this worse."

"I won't!" She yanked her arm away. "I love Jack and we want to get married."

"I forbid it."

"How? You can't lock me up till I die. I don't even live here; I only came for Constance's coming out ball. So, I will be leaving _with Jack_ tonight." She bowed a clumsy curtsy. "Constance, your ball was lovely, but I must be going. It's clear we're not welcome."

"If you go now, you won't be coming back or receiving a penny from me," he warned.

"Come back to what?" Katherine scoffed. "I knew how this would end; I don't know why I even came back." She stormed out the door. Jack followed, turning around for one last remark.

"You're all fools! She been my girl, I'd be doing everything to keep her!"

Pulitzer seethed after him. How he hated Kelly! An abundance of emotions raged throughout his heart. Betrayal, fury, but most predominantly, hurt.

000

"For sure?" They reached the gate, clutching her bag of essentials. Katherine took a final gaze at her old home before nodding.

"For sure."

"They're gonna come around. They gotta."

"I can't say what they'll do. But no matter. I've got you."

"Aw, ya my lucky ace up me sleeve." He threw an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go. For sure, right?"

"For sure." The pair strolled out together into the New York streets under a waning moon.

* * *

 **Hi. Omg it's been an awesome summer. Sadly, band camp has begun (it's exhausting) and soon school will follow. Fortunately, six days ago, on August 3, at the Cadillac Palace, I got to see Newsies! The cast was amazing! I am so obsessed! This is the second to last chapter in this story. Perhaps I will write a much longer novel on everything that goes on before, during, and after the strike. Thanks for reading! And, as always, please review!**


	10. Epilogue: Throughout the Years

_Once I was seven years old_

 _Mama told me "Go make yourself some friends_

 _Or you'll be lonely."_

 _Once I was seven years old_

"Seven is a good age," Belinda told Jack on his birthday. "You're growing up so fast. Papa would be so proud." The child remained sullen and silent. Nothing could be fun anymore, not even birthdays.

"God knows this year's been hard," Matilda chided. "But we're still together. Besides, Gerald's still with us. We have much to be thankful for." Jack pouted.

"Jack."

"Yes Mother."

1889 proved a cruel year. Gerald barely scraped up enough coins to buy food. He worked endlessly under one rotten boss after another. On a January morning, he collapsed on the job. Having finally broken him, the foreman threw his body onto the street like old newspapers. His two oldest, Belinda and Siobhan, discovered his corpse on the curb. They lacked funds to properly bury him, but the foreman solved that problem. His crooked henchman burned the body, regardless of his daughters' opinions.

After Gerald's death, the landlord evicted them. Now they lived in a cramped, dirty hovel off the side of the East River. Matilda, Belinda, and Siobhan were always working. The five younger children kept house, but nothing got easier. Jack yearned for his old home, his old life of innocence, but most of all for his father.

"You need to make some friends, darling," Matilda crooned, observing Jack's sadness. "Then you won't be so lonely."

"I spose," he muttered. Friends? What good were they?

 _It was a big big world_

 _But we thought we were bigger_

 _Pushing each other to the limit we were learning quicker_

 _By eleven smoking herb and drinking burning liquor_

 _Never rich so we were out to make that steady figure_

"Lousy crip." Morris shoved Crutchie onto the pavement. The thirteen-year-old grunted as he fell onto his bum.  
"Lay off, Delancy!" Jack pounded the bully's chest. Startled, Morris jumped back. Oscar took his place next to him. The younger boys whimpered for their friend.

"Cheese it, Jack!"

"Run for it!"

"No!" Jack was tired. Tired of Wiesel cheating them, being poor, living in a city...and he had it with the Delancys' bullying.

"What you playing at, Kelly?" Morris and Oscar circled their prey like vultures.

"How'd you like it if we picked on you?" Jack held up both fists. "Come pick on someone with two good legs?"

"A challenge, eh? Well, Oscar, what you say?"

"We'll skunk him fast."

"You boys owe me five if he skunks you!" Race hollered. He loathed the brothers, but Jack's victory looked unlikely. Still, should they get theirs, he wanted a trophy.

"If we soak him, we all your money!" Oscar fired back.

"What? Fine, give me twenty and a cigar!"

"You got a deal."

Two against one. Jack swallowed his fear. _For Crutchie._ Acting on instinct, he charged Morris.

"Geroff me!" The older boy kicked him into Oscar, who hammered his face.

"Stop!" Crutchie wailed.

"Shut it, crip!" Jack's world spun. His breakfast threatened to spill.

"Want some more?" Oscar flashed his brass knuckles. "I'm waiting."

"You stink," Jack managed.

"I warned ya." The knuckles zoomed forward. The newsies anticipated a sickening crunch. Whoosh! Jack dropped on his knees. Oscar's fist sailed above his head. His legs were apart. Without thinking, Jack slammed his shin between them hard.

"Ahh!" Oscar crumpled, shrieking higher than a girl.

"I'll kill you!" Morris barreled at Jack. The newsie ducked and dodged. Anger never benefited one during a fight. The Delancys got so mad they didn't look where they swung. Opportunity presented itself.

"Argh!" Morris groaned. Jack punched him _there._ Oscar took aim and missed. Morris shot at Jack but hit his brother. Jack took a blow to the stomach. Morris tripped over Oscar. The brawl went on till the Delancys ran out of steam.

"You want some more?" Jack hissed. Two bruised, beaten bullies seethed.

"We'll soak you, I swear, we'll kill you."

"Ahem. My winnings." Race opened his palm.

"Bastid." Oscar threw the coins at him.

"You forget something?"

"Oh yeah." He tossed over the cigar. "Took me forever to steal it."

"Your problem, not mine." The brutes stalked off, leaving the newsies to celebrate.

"Did you see their faces?"

"You won, Jackie!"

"We beat 'em!" The boys carried their hero into Newsie Square, with Race lagging behind, puffing a cigar.

 _Once I was eleven years old_

 _My daddy told me_

" _Go get yourself a wife or you'll be lonely."_

 _Once I was eleven years old_

"What happens when my friends outgrow me?"

"Les, it won't happen."

"Sarah and Davey outgrew me."

"No, they didn't." Esther sighed. She'd been having this conversation with her youngest for ages, ever since Sarah married and Davey moved out. "They still care about you. Besides, there's your friends. The newsies."

"But they got their own lives!"

"Les." His father gave him a hard look. "Don't badger your mother. She's got more work than ever since the wedding. Not to mention you're to go back to school now that I'm working."

"What?" The boy froze. "But I'm a newsie!"

"Only for as long as my leg was bad. Now I'm working again. You need an education. Or you'll be a newsie all your life."

"This isn't fair!" Les stamped his foot. "Selling papes is way better than school!"

"Les," Esther scolded. "Be respectful."

"NO! You're messing up my life!" The child ran to his room. "What about all my friends? Newsies don't go to school."

"You'll make new ones."

"No I won't!"

"Enough of this." His father grabbed him for a good thrashing. _Smack. Smack. Smack._ Hiding his tears, Les apologized.

"I'm sorry, Mother and Father."

"You will make new friends, Les. And keep the old."

"And when I get older?"

"Get a wife," his dad advised. "Then you won't be so lonely."

 _I always had that dream, like my daddy before me_

 _So I started writing songs, I started writing stories_

 _Something about that glory always seemed to bore me_

 _'Cause only those I love will ever really know me_

 _Once I was twenty years old_

 _My story got told_

 _Before the morning sun when life was lonely_

 _Once I was twenty years old_

"You heard the man," Katherine reminded herself. "'Write it good.' Write it good or it's back to wheezing your way through the flower show. Eh, no pressure. Let's go."

 _Clack. Clack. Clack._ She loved the click her typewriter made.

"Newsies stop the _World._ Huh, a little hyperbole never hurt anyone 'With all eyes fixed on the trolley strike, there's another battle brewing in the city...' and if I could just write about it!" She ripped the paper out.

 _This could be your only chance._ Why were the stakes so high? Striking newsies, her career...

 _What did Father do?_ He taught all his children how to write good. He did own the _World,_ after all.

"Write what you know," he instructed. "Also, please remember not to claim, 'I don't know what to write or the right way to write it.' Very annoying."

 _If only our relationship stayed that way._ She preferred a publisher to a businessman. But Joseph changed with the times, just like her.

"During the Civil War, I learned a valuable lesson," Joseph often said. "The war is not won on the battlefield, but in the headlines." Newspapers shaped his life. _Like mine._

Surprisingly, Joseph didn't approve of her ambitions. Her mother nearly fainted. A woman holding a career? The night closed in a cat fight. The _Sun_ 's editor treated women no better.

"I'd hate to upset you with, um, subjects not proper for ladies," he sneered. "But there's a flower show at one." _I hate flower shows._

Change refused a fast entrance. Few knew the _Sun_ had a woman reporter. The most exciting assignment was the burlesque theater, where _he_ showed up. _To think I'm writing his story today!_  
"Well, watch what happens now," Katherine stated briskly. _Clack clack clack._

 _I only see my goals; I don't believe in failure_

 _'Cause I know the smallest voices they can make it major_

 _I got my boys with me, at least those in favor_

 _And if we don't meet before I leave, I hope I see you later_

"Scabs, what do you think?" Jack demanded. The whelps stood their ground.

"They think they can just waltz in and take our jobs!" Finch barked.

"We can handle them!"

"Let's soak them!" Strikers' first pumped.

"Hold it, hold it!" Frantically, Davey frantically spread his arms wide. "We all stand together or we don't stand a chance! Jack!"

"No I hear ya." The union president paused before continuing. "Listen fellas, I know someone put you up to this. They're probably paying you some extra money too, yeah? Well, it ain't right! Pulitzer thinks we're gutter rats with no respect for nothin, including each other. Is that what we are, huh? Well, we stab each other in the back and yeah, that's who we are.'

"But if we stand together, we change the whole game. It ain't just about us. All across this city, there are boys and girls who should be out playin', or goin' to school but instead they are slavin' to support themselves and their folks! Ain't no problem in being poor, and not a one of us complains if the work we do is hard. All we ask is a square deal. Fellas, for the sake of all the kids in every sweatshop, factory, and slaughterhouse in this town, I beg you. Throw down your papers and join the strike."

He turned away, uninterested in their excuses or the Delancys' taunts. _That's the truth, and I said it!_

"Please?" Les pleaded. The standoff wore on.

 _We failed_ Jack thought, disgusted.

"Jack." A scab, scrawny with red hair, walked up to him. "I'm with ya, Jack." His papes hit the pavement. A cheer rose. His friend quickly followed suit, leaving the third one.

"You're kidding me, right?" he demanded.

"At the end of the day, who you gonna trust? Them-" pointing at the strikers "-or them?" Humiliated, Wiesel glowered.

"Come on kid!"

"Do it!"

"Stand together!"

"Oh what the hell, my father's gonna kill me anyway!" The third kid flung his papes down. Jack beamed. _The union is complete._

 _Once I was twenty years old, my story got told_

 _I was writing bout everything I saw before me_

 _Once I was twenty years old_

"Good morning, gentlemen." Katherine joyfully hurried into Jacobi's Deli. Based on their gloomy expressions, she noticed they didn't share her joy. "Oh, you would get a load of these glum mugs. Why, can these really be the same boys who made the front page of the _New York Sun_?"

"Front page of what?" Katherine proudly whipped out her edition of the _Sun_. The spirited strikers, forever captured in black and white, posed on the front. _NEWSIES STOP THE WORLD_.

"Let me see!" Race yanked the paper from her. "Well, would you look at that! It's me!"

"And you're not even dead!" Jojo laughed.

"Where's me, where's me?"

"Just wait till my old man gets a load of this. I won't be last in line for the tub tonight!"

"You got us in the papes!" Davey at last recognized the reporter.

"You got yourself in the papes," she modestly deflected his compliment.

" _NEWSIES STOP THE WORLD._ Now that's a headline even Elmer could sell!"

"What else do you got?"

"Oh, well, mine's the only story that ran," the journalist confessed. "Pulitzer declared a blackout on strike news, so even I'm shut down now. Hey, I heard they arrested Crutchie. Did they get Jack too?"

"The Delancys are spreading the story that he took it on the land at the first sight of the cops."

"Jack don't run from no fight!" Les vehemently defended his hero.

"Hey get down, short stuff, I'm just reporting the news," Albert snapped.

"For jumpin' Jack's sake, can you stow his curiosity for long enough to drink in the moment? I'm famous!" Race bragged.

" Yeah, what of it?" Finch callously flicked his hand.

"You stupid or what? You're famous, and the world is your erster!"

"Your what?" Henry ejaculated.

"Your erster. Your erster? Your fancy clam with the pearl inside!"

"How much does being famous pay?"

"You don't need money when you're famous! They gives you whatever you want, gratis!" Race hopped onto the table. "Why, we're kings of New York!"

 _Soon we'll be thirty years old, our songs have been sold_

 _We've traveled around the world and we're still roaming_

 _Soon we'll be thirty years old_

"Forget king of New York, I'm king of the world!" Race howled toward the sun.

"Don't get so ahead of yourself." Finch leaned against the ship railing. "We're still in third class."

"So?"

"We're not aristos."

"Who cares? The food's excellent." Henry blew the ship a kiss. "I love the _Titanic._ "

"What's the date?" Race queried.

"April 14, 1912," Finch spoke into his newspaper. "Wow, we don't have much farther to go. Wonder what the fellas will say when they sees us."

"We're quite lucky, you know," Henry babbled. "Race won that bet at the races, we got to see London, and now we're on the best ship ever!"

"True," Finch conceded. "Well, it's Sunday, so no dancing in the general room. It's gonna be a boring night."

"I'll tell you about the dancing girls in that club," Race said. "Will that make your night more interesting?"

"You bet it will!" They burst into a fit of giggles, blissfully unaware of where _Titanic_ would be the next morning.

 _I'm still learning about life_

 _My woman brought children for me_

 _So I can sing them all my songs and I can tell them stories_

 _Most of my boys are with me_

 _Some still out seeking glory_

 _Some I had to leave behind_

 _My brother, I'm still sorry_

 _Soon I'll be sixty years old_

 _My daddy got sixty-one_

 _Remember life and then your life becomes a better one_

 _I made a man so happy when I wrote a letter once_

 _I hope my children come and visit once or twice a month_

David Jacobs gazed upon the city from the fire escape. No lights, except the watchtowers' great beams, lit New York. He was supposed to be indoors, but why bother? _It's only a drill._

Forty years ago, Davey wouldn't be sitting alone. Sarah or Pap spent long hours talking with him here. And Les...he winced. Twenty-four years failed to fade his pain.

He recalled how valiantly the man fought. The cheer Les brought, even in the trenches. His final skyward glance as mustard gas swallowed him whole.

A part of Phillip and Esther died alongside their youngest. Phillip grew quieter each day till Spanish flu silenced him forever. Esther bravely bore all her trials, consoling Les's widow Vivian and their children. But pneumonia took her by late December of 1921. Vivian remarried, overly eager to leave behind her old life. She moved out west with Les's children. Just when his heart could take no more, David received news of Sarah's death in New Jersey just months after Esther's.

 _It's not been easy._ Even before the war, poverty posed a problem. Money troubles made college impossible, ruining all chances for an academic career. His wife, Lily, perished the day following her daughter's birth. Davey raised Ben and Lily the Second alone. Now the two were off in Europe fighting the Nazis; Ben a pilot, Lily a spy.

 _I wish I had letters._ Papa loved his letters. He saved every single one. But Lily's work meant no contact, and Ben rarely wrote.

The remaining newsies who survived or stayed in New York visited when the could. Specs, Race, Albert, and good old Crutchie. Jack used to come.

"Grief kills too many these days," Davey muttered at the funeral. "Grief for lost sons, daughters, wives..." Katherine would've wanted her husband to live longer than fifty-six.

 _Soon I'll be sixty years old_

 _Will I think the world is cold_

 _Or will I have a lot of children_

 _Who can warm me?_

 _Soon I'll be sixty years old_

"Hey Davey!" The aging man whirled around. A posse of middle aged men stood in his window, holding a cake.

"You didn't have to."

"You think we'd forget your birthday?" Leaning on the same old crutch, their ringleader pointed at the clock. "Midnight coming. Get in here before you're sixty!" Laughing, David complied.

"How'd you get here? There's a drill."

"We just got in when it started. Boy, your ears is bad. I can't believe you didn't hear us!"

"I'm almost sixty!"

"I'm almost sixty-one!" Finch bragged.

"We's getting old," Race remarked. "You think we'll all be here this time next year?"

Silence. The boys contemplated this. Death had touched their lives too many times. Their families, their children, Romeo, Henry, Les, even Jack and Katherine... The clock hand moved. A minute to twelve.

"We can't say," Crutchie finally admitted. "It been like this since we been born. But they're-" pointing at the stars "-still here. I betcha they're right here, or on the rooftop, watching us an' the city...we don't gotta worry bout them. So let's be grateful we's living, for everything we gotten...say a prayer..."

The men bowed their heads. Memories, hopes, fears...everything filled their

David asked much of his Lord. The well being of his loved ones, the Axis powers' defeat, strength...but most importantly, he whispered two words: _thank you._

"Ya welcome," a familiar voice said. Davey peeked up. No cocky newsie in sight. _I miss him._

 _Dong! Dong!_ Twelve times the clock rang.

 _Soon I'll be sixty years old_

 _Will I think the world is cold_

 _Or will I have a lot of children who can warm me?  
Soon I'll be sixty years old_

"Happy birthday Dave!" Crutchie declared. "Let's eat."

While New York huddled fearfully, five old friends gave a party, disobeying all drill rules. They made merry by candlelight, eating cake and using outdated slang.

"I swear, I hear someone upstairs," Specs mused. "You sure no one living up there?"

"Only rats," David joked. "But even they ain't so loud."

"Mebbe sum' ghosts wanted a party too."

"Or a chat on the rooftop." Crutchie looked up thoughtfully. "I felt-"

"I suppose they be doing a jig or something," Race said. "Like when we made headlines."

"Maybe." And somewhere, they were.

 _Once I was seven years old_

 _Mama told me "Go make yourself some friends_

 _Or you'll be lonely."_

 _Once I was seven years old_

* * *

 ** _So we've reached the end at last. *Sobs* Thank you all so much for following me on this journey. I will write for Newsies again soon. Carry the banner._**

 ** _Song: 7 Years by Lukas Graham_**

 ** _I took lines directly from the musical's script. I own nothing. Thanks for reading._**


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